She’s just begun to sing in a high, beautiful soprano when there’s a knock at the front door. I pull the music room door mostly closed, peering out through a small crack. Could someone be paying a call on Mr. Auclair? Alice tacked a yellow ribbon onto the front door last night to indicate sickness within, but perhaps a good friend or a business associate would come to check up on him?

Alice opens the front door. Immediately, I can tell from her haughty expression that it’s not the Brothers. My heart leaps, hoping for my sisters, before I recognize Rory’s voice.

I lean out into the hall. “Is everything all right at the convent?”

“Strange is what it is.” Rory strides over and air-kisses both my cheeks.

“The guards have all left,” Sachi says. “They had half a dozen soldiers stationed on each floor last night and more patrolling the street out front. Then, right after breakfast, the sergeant told Gretchen they’d been given orders to leave.”

“Why?” This seems far too good to be true. “Do you think it’s a trap?”

Alice darts a glance toward the front door. “You weren’t followed, were you?”

“Please.” Sachi plants her hands on her slim hips. “We aren’t novices at sneaking, you know.”

Something strikes me. “You said the guard reported to Gretchen? Where’s Inez?”

“That,” Rory says, tracing her name in the dust on top of the piano, “is an excellent question. She went off last night and we haven’t seen hide nor hair of her since.”

“Peculiar, isn’t it?” Sachi adjusts the ivory cummerbund of her apple-green dress. “You wouldn’t think she’d leave the convent crawling with guards. She said she had business to attend to at the hospital.”

“Perhaps she’ll take sick and die,” Rory suggests cheerfully.

I narrow my eyes. Perhaps Inez is visiting Covington and the other members of the Head Council again.

“How are my sisters?” I ask, collecting the fallen rose petals in my palm.

Sachi and Rory exchange glances, and my breath quickens. “Tess had another episode last night. A vision or a nightmare, we’re not sure which. She didn’t seem certain herself,” Sachi says carefully.

I crumple the rose petals in my fist. “What was it about?”

“It’s hard to say. She seemed a little batty, to be honest.” Rory dots the i in Elliott with a star.

Sachi elbows her. “Tess kept saying that the city was going to burn. That there would be fire and death and she couldn’t stop any of it. It was—a trifle disturbing.”

Rory gives an exaggerated shiver. “It was eerie, being shut up in that room all night without a clue what was going on, with Tess prophesying all sorts of death and destruction.”

“Everyone’s in a panic,” Sachi sighs. “Sister Gretchen has teachers stationed at every exit to catch anyone coming or going. She nearly refused to let us leave, but we thought you’d want to hear the news.”

“There’s going to be some sort of proclamation at noon in Richmond Square,” Rory explains.

I frown. “Finn stopped by last night. He said O’Shea was called away to the hospital in the midst of interrogating him and your father. You don’t suppose they’ve seen through Inez’s pretense with Brother Covington and arrested her, do you?”

“Perhaps they’ll hang her!” Rory’s rabbity smile turns bloodthirsty.

“Better hope that’s not it. She’d give us all up to save her own neck,” Alice says.

“We need to go find out what’s happening,” I declare, dropping the rose petals into the wastebasket and heading for the front hall. Behind me, Sachi is rubbing out Rory’s name in the dust.

“I was hoping you’d say that. I’m dead tired of being cooped up,” Rory declares.

“Do you suppose you can keep your temper under control this time?” Alice needles.

“Yes.” I glare. “I don’t make the same mistakes twice, Alice.”

• • •

Alice creates a glamour that turns her hair brown and thins her hourglass figure and heart-shaped face. It’s just enough that no one would recognize her as the same girl who was in the cathedral yesterday. She uses more of her magic to turn me into a willowy Indo girl with glossy brown hair and caramel skin. I could pass for Parvati’s sister.

The cobbled streets of Cardiff are quiet. Several of the neighboring houses sport fluttering yellow ribbons

Once we reach the market district, there’s an abrupt change in mood. Soldiers lurk on every street corner, stopping us every few blocks to demand that we lower our hoods. It’s obvious that they’re searching for someone.

Searching for me.

I know that Alice has a powerful affinity for illusions, but I can’t help trembling every time the soldiers peer into my face. I’m placing an enormous amount of trust in someone I considered an enemy a week ago. If she wanted to destroy me, she could do it so easily.

Newspaper boys loiter next to shops that have shuttered early for the lunch hour. “Assassination attempt on Brother O’Shea! Dangerous witch on the loose! Richmond Cathedral damaged in the attack!” they shout, waving copies of the Sentinel.

I stop to purchase a paper, fearing all the while that someone will see through the illusion and shout my name and the soldiers will drag me away. I must be mad, brazenly walking down Church Street when all of New London is searching for me. And yet Alice was right. I can’t hide in her father’s house forever.

“Good Lord,” Rory swears. A sketch of me, Maura, and Tess is plastered on the front page of the paper. It’s based on a photograph we sat for two summers ago, and the likeness is quite good. Maura sits in a tall armchair, while Tess kneels at her feet and I stand behind them, my hand on Maura’s shoulder. Tess still wore pinafores and her hair in braids then. She kept the picture tucked into the corner of her mirror; the Brothers must have found it when they searched the convent.

Right above the photo, a headline screeches out: WITCH RESPONSIBLE FOR ASSASSINATION ATTEMPT ON O’SHEA IDENTIFIED. The first sentence declares that a substantial reward and immunity will be given to anyone who comes forward with reputable information regarding the whereabouts of Catherine Cahill. Then it notes that my sisters—also witches—are missing and presumed complicit in the attacks on the Head Council, Harwood Asylum, Richmond Square, and Richmond Cathedral. Alistair and Prudencia Merriweather are mentioned as fellow fugitives, presumed dangerous.

Rory lets out a low whistle. “That’s a hefty reward. It’s a good thing I like you.”

On my other side, Alice scowls. “Perhaps Maura has the right idea, getting rid of those girls. I don’t know many people who’d resist a sum like that.”

I let her take the newspaper, and shove my hands in the pockets of my blue cloak. I don’t want to believe that the Harwood girls would betray me after I saved them twice over. But after being locked up again last night—even for their own safety—well, the promise of freedom and immunity must be tempting.

Maura would be delighted to have all her accusations about the untrustworthiness of the Harwood girls and my gullibility proven correct—if she survived it.